Maybe less than five. I was at the Japan hyperculture thingee at the Kennedy Center, with the robot in a kimono answering questions from the audience. I was back deep in the crowd, and turned to my date and commented that although the robot blinked, interacted and gestured with her arms, her mannekin fingers didn’t bend. I turned back around to see the robot looking right at me. She must’ve heard me.
Oops. “She” must’ve heard me?

Wait, what happens in five years that I can start robot sex and cat-talking-to? (Or robot sex anyway, I took up the latter decades ago — didn’t I Linus, you little snuggums uggums with your perfect little paw pads?)

No, no, no, Virginia. It’ll be five years or so before you can converse with your pet or have sex with robots. Until then, keep plugging. Internet saturarion can sometimes cause toxic levels of dismay. I’m dating someone who’s never heard of frog porn. You need to depressurize.